


Know Better

by Birdgirl90



Series: Selfcerts: For Him [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: AU because of Peace Walker Ocelot, Male self insert, Other, POV Second Person, PWP, Peace Walker Ocelot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl90/pseuds/Birdgirl90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because he really should know better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know Better

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies!  
> This is a male self insert staring Peace Walker Ocelot in an AU where he joins MSF.  
> Enjoy! :)  
> ~Birdie

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

 

You’ve done your time in the U.S. Marines, serving alongside your brothers in arms, watching the horrors of the Vietnam conflict around you on all sides.  It’d disgusted you and you hated Johnson and Nixon for continuing this pointless war, hated how no one really won but so many lost.  When Ford declared the end of it, it didn’t matter - you had served your time and left as quick as you could.

The lure of a military without a nation is one you couldn’t deny.  No nation to bark orders with pointless bloodshed, no need to hide who you are.  Even if it technically makes you a mercenary, you don’t care.  So far, MSF is the best home you’ve known.  Big Boss and his commander Miller run a tight camp, and the Marine in you loves that.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

The first time you see him, you know you’re lost.  They call him the Revolver Ocelot, though rumors are his real name is Adam, something you’ll later confirm later as he presses you into your cot at night, smoothly arched along your back.  He’s tall and lanky, silver at his ashen temples, the faintest hint of a sparse pale beard along his well defined jaw, long sharp nose nearly out of proportion for his long face.  Unlike Miller with his blonde hair and aviators who chases any skirt in sight, Ocelot keeps to himself mostly, no liaisons to be heard of.

You watch him with interest as he casually plays with his revolvers, twirling them in graceful red gloved fingers, catching them as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.  He’s an enigma, but when he speaks in lilting Russian, you feel your heart flutter in your chest.  Sometimes he catches you watching, a sly smile on his face as he throws a wink at you, one that makes you flush and frustrated at how he makes you burn.  It’s not dignified for a man like you, but you’ve long stopped questioning and let yourself fall into your desires, imagining that voice in your ear and those nimble fingers on your cock as you touch yourself at night, the friction along your length bringing you to white hot climax, his name at your lips.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

 

When you finally approach him, the humidity is high from the storms that brew on the horizons, a fine sheen of sweat covering your brow and sticking to the back of your neck.  Ocelot still somehow wears his ever present scarlett scarf around his long neck, somehow perfect with his sleeveless blue and white telnyashka.  He eyes you from the side, ever sly like the spy he is, and the look in those gray eyes makes you shiver: he looks as if he’s ready to devour you.  That’s when you realize, you aren’t the only one dancing around this tension; he’s watched you as much as you’ve studied him, waiting to see what your next move in this chess game will be.

You’ve chosen well, it seems.

The storm clouds darken the sky, a fine rain starting as thunder rumbles the ground; he looks up with casual interest at the drops of warm moisture before moving into the shelter of his nearby tent, a look over his shoulder and predatory cat like grin inviting you to join him.  Join him you do, walking into the tent as the heavens open up, damp earth mingling with a faint trace of peppermint you didn’t know anyone could procure out here.  You start to call him Ocelot and he stops you; it’s Adam, he informs you, and you might as well skip the formalities.  After all, you both know where this is going.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

Adam nearly towers over you, his head almost bumping the tent ceiling.  You feel that familiar heat in your belly, the burning ache that you stopped fighting so long ago, pitching a tent in your green fatigues.  There’s a low growl and suddenly you find yourself on his camp cot, his long legs and arms pressing like willow branches against your body, holding you down as he assaults your mouth, teeth and tongue and sloppy.  You fight back, rip his scarf from his neck and pulling him closer to you, nipping hard along his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he grins like a cheshire cat against your stubbled jaw.  

His hair is so soft somehow, perfect under strong fingertips, the silver along the sides making you shiver; thirty looks good on him, and suddenly you don’t want to share this with anyone, the grins and the laughs as he bites at your neck and the way his long nimble fingers tug your shirt over your head and the hard heat pressing into your thigh.  You’re hungry and hot and the erection between your thighs desperate for release nearly throbs with anticipation.  The fire in your belly and between your legs and up your chest feels like a candle igniting to a wildfire, and you want him to touch you so badly.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

 

When Adam finally reaches down and slips his fingers under your waistband, the moan that falls from your lips is nearly embarrassing.  But Adam enjoys it as he teases along your length, toying with his thumb along the slick precum of your tip, enjoying the way you arch into his touch and whimper.  How he’s still dressed you don’t know, but even in the haze of pleasure you manage to toss his shirt and with a little help add his pants to the pile on the floor.  He moves his hand and lets you explore for a moment, grabbing your hands and guiding you along his hairless chest and narrow hips.

His cock is magnificent, the most perfect one you’ve seen yet.  He’s long and thick, already silver below, and throbbing like yours.  You run a hand over it, grab onto it, and enjoy the flush across his pale cheeks, the way his chest heaves.  Above you, the rain turns into a complete downpour, thunder echoing along the dirt ground, the peppermint on your tongue enhancing everything somehow.  Adam takes your hand off his slick cock; he has other ideas for you.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

 

Adam flips you on your chest, and even though you want to dominate, you find the pleasure in him having his way with you far too much enjoyable.  The filth he whispers directly into your ear as you position on your knees and hug his pillow make you shake with anticipation.  Those skillful fingers play along your hips as if you are one of his revolvers and you buck into his touch, needing him inside you already, cock dripping with your pre-cum and pressing hard against your stomach.  You whimper as he enters you, and Adam is not gentle.  But that’s what you like, what you need, a single hard thrust until he’s balls deep against you and the pain mingling with your desire and heat.

You’re tight and you know it as he rocks against you, thrusting time and time again, one hand leaving bruises along your hip, the other tight against your shoulder, aches in all the right places all at once.  He bites at the base of your neck as he curves over your arching back, hot skin against hot skin.  Sweat and sex and damp earth fill the tent, the pitters of rain drops mingling with the wet slides of his dick in your ass.  You whimper and heave and shake beneath him as his panting in your ear gets louder and harsher, his thrusts more erratic.  You want to touch yourself, to relieve yourself from the orgasm building hard and hot within you, but he holds your hand down until at last he cums inside you, sticky and hot and dripping.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

 

Adam’s chest heaves against your back for a lingering moment, and you feel as if you can’t take it any more.  You need release and he knows it as he extricates from you, letting his seed drip down your ass and onto his cot.  You stretch a little and whimper; he grins wickedly as he flips you once more and settles between your knees.  Those steel eyes of his lock yours, his face flushed and hair disheveled as he plays his fingers along the insides of your thighs, somehow still able to tease even with the deep flush down his neck and chest.  It’s nearly too much and you grip the sheets beneath you with alarming force, begging him to suck already, just fucking suck you slut.

He obeys, throws one of your legs over his shoulder as he keeps his eyes locked on yours.  His mouth is hot, wet, and the slurping noise he makes as he bobs up and down your aching cock make you let out a loud groan and growl.  Goddamn you need this, and you let him have his way, bucking your hips until he chokes, his too long nose against you, nimble fingers along your balls as he continues to work with his tongue, swirling and pulsing around you, hums of pleasure vibrating you.  You twitch in his mouth and you know you’re close, the tent canopy above you blurring and the vibrations around your cock matching the thunder shaking the floor.  You can’t take it, burning inside and out until at last you can’t do it anymore and you cum as another wave of thunder echoes, as if nature itself is spilling with you, your sticky release swallowed by red lips and a deep throat.

 

He should know better.  But then again, so should you.

 

Adam pulls up as your chest heaves and the afterglow of your orgasm rides through you like waves.  He licks his lips as you watch, all traces of your release gone from his now grinning mouth.  He starts to get dressed, to pull his telnyashka over his head and fasten his pants, and you suspect this is your cue to leave, that this escapade will never come up again, that he’s had his fill and wants you gone.  You quietly start to dress, trying to crush the slight disappointment in your very core -

But then gentle long fingered hands help you up and a mouth so gentle presses against yours, once more filling you with peppermint leaves and earthen sighs.  He pulls away, and there’s something almost unreadable in his eyes as he asks you to stay, asks you to share his cot, asks you to share a meal with him.  You feel something warm in your chest as you readily agree.

  
Perhaps knowing better isn’t all it’s made out to be.


End file.
